


The King and the Arcane

by Ethren



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat, Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Auguste (Captive Prince) Lives, Damen is a fighter/barbarian, Dragon Shifter AU, Dungeons and Dragons AU, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Laurent is a conjurer, M/M, Multi, One more spoiler warnings, Spoilers from here, long story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2020-04-05 03:25:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19040173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ethren/pseuds/Ethren
Summary: Curled horns rammed into his stomach. He felt the breath knocked out of him, doubling over as the chimera bashed Damen backwards. His skull cracked against the side of the arena. The crowd erupted into cheers as Damen slumped to the ground. He could feel sticky blood in his dark locks, his vision was blurry.He tried to stumble to his feet, swallowing the wave of nausea that was hitting him and wiped the red from his lips.Then, he felt a hand touch his shoulder.He jolted, spinning around. He’d managed to stumble right below the noble’s box. The hand touching his shoulder was gloved, but there was no mistaking that blonde hair, cascading down the prince’s back in an elegant braid. Even amongst blood and sand, his visage was serene - save for his eyes. They were cold, otherworldly as they locked on Damen’s.“Don’t die.” His voice was smooth as ice. “I do hate bad investments.”Damen has been captured from his home and taken to the one place where it's more dangerous to be a Prince than it is a slave. Dungeons and Dragons AU. Warning for smut and violence.





	1. Chapter 1

  
  
Damen could taste blood in his mouth. His body ached from a week of abuse. Of being shoved onto a ship and taken across the sea to a strange land, being shoved up among his fellow Akielons like slaves.

The last week....it was a blur. It came back to him in fragmented pieces. He’d been bathing with a beautiful slave before they came to take him. Mages that stormed into the baths, spells flying, incantations echoing off the tile walls. It had taken nearly four spells striking him dead in his chest before he succumbed to their power, falling to the wet floor and then...nothing. He dimly recalled being on a boat, pressed against the sweaty shoulders of other slaves, and a cold voice being whispered in his ear, ‘you’re never going home again.’ A voice he recognized immediately....the voice of his half brother, Kastor.

The damn traitor.

And now.... Where was he. It was hot. Every step they took in this underground space sent up dust that entered his mouth and he coughed it from his lungs, a hand over his mouth. They were in tunnels running beneath a massive complex, along with his fellow slaves. All of them were in poor shape. Bleeding, bruised and battered, they hung their heads in defeat.

And not a single one of them knew of Damen’s identity.

He was utterly alone here.

They were passing by massive cages, following a Veretian slaver, who was speaking rapidly and choppily in the Akielon language. “-are expected to fight to the death, make sure you put on a good show! He’ll be watching, and will likely want to buy you...”

 _Buy me?_ Damen’s jaw slid forward. Not likely.

He jolted as something slammed into the bars of a cage, a clawed paw reaching out to strike him. It was a strange reptilian creature, with the head of a lion and a tail armed with barbed thorns. It roared, and some of the Akielon slaves gasped, dancing backwards. “Ah, a manticore!” The veretian said excitedly. “I’ve never seen one of those before. Come! It’s time to begin.”

They were walking towards an opening where bright light spilled into the darkness. A weapon was shoved into his hands before he could register what to do with it - a choppily made spear that looked as though it could splinter at any moment and he was shoved forward into the blinding brilliance.

He could hear the crowd before he could see them. It sounded like a thundering wave at first, a roar that curved around him as he staggered forward, his sandals brushing hot sand. He blinked away the light - and his stomach felt like it was gripped by molten iron.

They were in an arena. The banners of Vere spilled downwards from above, ripping about in the wind and seated around them were hundreds - no, thousands - of Veretians. They were clapping, applauding, trading coins, cheering.

Damen immediately noted the blood stained on the sands....It was an arena.

He could immediately sense the utter panic from his fellow Akielons. These slaves...they were born to please. They were born to prostrate, to pleasure...not to kill. They’ve never even held a weapon before in their lives.

They’d all been sent here to die....well played, Kastor.

“Ladies and gentleman!” A mage was floating above the crowd, standing on a floating disk, his voice augmented by a spell to echo out through the arena. “Today, we have a special guest, to watch Akielon blood spill!” The Veretians cheered. “The Prince Laurent has honored us with his presence! He will be selecting a single slave to bring back with him to the palace....which one will it be?!”

The Prince....Prince Laurent. Amidst the cheering, Damen swiveled, his spear gripped tightly in hand. His eyes scanned the crowd...and his throat constricted. There he was, a blonde figure sticking out strikingly amongst the nobles and who could only be the regent beside him. His golden hair was long and braided down his back, his dark blue, nearly black tunic done up to his chin.

Laurent.... He looked so much like....

“Oh gods.... We’re going to die!”

Damen turned. One of the Akielons had stumbled back, his weapon nearly falling from his hands, his face was ashen.

“No. We’re not.” Damen gripped the slave’s wrist. “Everyone behind me. We’re going to slaughter whatever comes through those gates, and get out of here alive.”

“In honor of the Prince's arrival, we bring a gift! A battle to the death, between a rare beast imported from the lands of Vaska." Another resounding cheer followed - before immediately being silenced as Laurent stood, a hand in the air.

Damen could feel his heart hammering in his chest. He expected Laurent to notice him. To say something. To remember him.... After all, they’d met once before. But he didn’t. Laurent’s eyes lingered on him for only a moment, striking blue and cold, before sweeping out over the crowd. “Begin,” he said.

Damen could hear the grind of a gate being lifted. The Akielons were moving behind him, as Damen popped his knuckles, eyeing the cage, fingers rolling along the wood of the spear.

A beast began to emerge from the pen, tossing its head and roaring. It had the hindquarters of a goat and the forequarters of a great lion. Draconic wings were spread out along its spined back and three heads; a horned goat, a maned lion and a dragon snarled, acid dripping down from between the dragon's maw. A chimera.

“Akielons!” Damen’s voice snapped out like a whip, making the other slaves jump to attention. “Those with shields in front of me! Form a line, those with spears and polearms, place yourselves behind the shields, now!”

They moved fast under Damen’s order. Almost not fast enough. The chimera leaped upwardwards, wings snapped outwards and gave an ear shattering roar as it began to charge forward. He could see the acid and fire building in its maw and grated his teeth. “Down!”

The slaves ducked, just as a cone of fire blasted over their heads. The telltale scream of a slave signaled the first casualty - but they couldn’t stop now. He wracked his brain on everything he knew about chimeras. Damn it, why didn’t he listen to the scholars when he was getting his lessons on arcane bestiaries?! It takes a minute for a chimera to regain its breath weapon.... Which means it would have to come at them with claws and fangs. “Polearms!” He shouts. “Get ready!”

The slaves with spears and glaives positioned themselves between the wall of shields. He could scarcely hear the roar of disapproval from the Veretians. They’d come to watch Akielons get mauled - not pose a semblance of military strategy. “Hold....” The chimera was charging. Claws were digging into the sand and a buried skull went flying as it was torn from the ground. “Hold.....” He could feel the tremors in the earth as it bolted towards them. “Now, forward!”

The slaves thrusted their weapons forward blindly - and there was a yowl of pain as one of them struck the chimera in the chest, blood gushing from its open wound and another in the shoulder. The beast was slowed - but it still wasn’t enough.

A scream of terror was cut short as a chimera raked its claws across the throat of an Akielon, sending him flying away and it batted another to the ground.

He had to get its attention off the slaves. “Hey!” Damen reached down, grabbing a bone and hurled it, striking the chimera’s nose. “Over here!”

It worked, for better or worse. The chimera’s attention was immediately on Damen and he could see its eyes narrowed to slits, growling as it began to prowl towards him.

He sidestepped. The chimera followed his motion. They were circling around each other as the slaves scattered to the edges of the arena in terror. The chimera licked its lips and Damen breathed. _Wait.... just wait...._

It charged. A roar tore from its dragon maw as it lunged forward, swiping a paw and Damen sidestepped, scarcely missing it by inches and raised his spear, the wood nearly snapping in his hand as it deflected the blow of its lion’s claw. But what he forgot, was the goat’s head.

Curled horns rammed into his stomach and he felt the breath knocked out of him, doubling over as the chimera’s body crashed into him, bashing Damen backwards and skull cracking against the wall of the arena. The crowd erupted into cheers. Damen slumped to the ground. He could feel blood sticky in his dark locks, his vision was blurry.

Ahead, he could hear the slaves beginning to try to draw away its attention. _No...stop._ He tried to stumble to his feet, swallowing the wave of nausea that was hitting him and wiped the blood from his lips.

Then, he felt a hand touch his shoulder.

He jolted, spinning around. He’d managed to stumble right below the noble’s box. The hand touching his shoulder was gloved, but there was no mistaking that blonde hair, cascading down the prince’s back in an elegant braid. Even amongst blood and sand, his visage was serene - save for his eyes. They were cold, otherworldly as they locked on Damen’s.

“Don’t die.” His voice was smooth as ice. “I do hate bad investments.”

_Bad investments?_

A scream tore away his attention as his spun back around. Past the two corpses that littered the arena, chimera was beginning to close in on the Akielons who were beginning to reform the shield formation Damen had taught them. But it wouldn’t be enough. It was going to kill them all.

Damen’s feet were moving without thought. He sprinted across the sands, discarding his spear and drew up the sword of a fallen slave as he rushed the chimera. It sensed him only at the last moment, dragon head turning as Damen leaped with a roar, stabbing his blade deep into its back. The chimera screeched, wings snapping out as it tried to rise up from the ground, wings beating at the air and Damen drove the sword deeper and deeper into its body.

It collided back to the ground in a heap, screeching and writhing, its tail nearly crushing Damen before he rolled away, coming up on one knee. Sweat dripped down his face in rivulets, his breath heaving. It was starting to recover. Even bleeding from every inch of its body, it was still strong as it turned to him, acid dripping from its draconic maw, yellow eyes hateful. It charged.

“Here!”

One of the Akielons threw him his spear which he snatched out of the air. The chimera leaped, and Damen threw up his spear - the chimera’s weight piercing through the blade.

Silence. Every eye was locked on the chimera that had all but smothered the man, their breaths stilled. The chimera began to shift....then its body was thrown to the side as Damen staggered to his feet, mouth bloody and spear still clutched tight in hand.

The roar of the Veretians was loud. They leaped to their feet, and a name began to be chanted throughout the crowd. “ _Beast tamer! Beast tamer! Beast tamer!”_ But Damen got little time to appreciate his victory. All at once, he and the other slaves were being herded towards the gate leading back to the slave quarters.

Unconsciously, Damen looked towards the Noble’s Box. The Regent was there, speaking with what looked like a Prakan ambassador. Other nobles and courtiers lingered about him like pesky flies.... But the prince was gone.

Damen’s eyes adjusted to the darkness as they left the arena, the pudgy slave owner snapping orders. “Have this lot taken to the kitchen palace, Prince Laurent has ordered for them to be put to work.” His words were a buzz in Damen’s ears, his face hot with rage.

He had a weapon in hand. After _weeks_ of planning, of straining to come up with a way to escape, he finally had a weapon and he got so wrapped up in simply surviving, he’d allowed for it to be ripped from his grasp and now he was right back where he started. Damn it Kastor....sending him to the one place where it was more dangerous to be a Prince than a slave....

“And that one.” Damen nearly ran into another slave as they were stopped, the slave owner pointing towards Damen. “That one is to be brought forth to the palace.” Damen, fluent enough in Vere, cocked his head as another slaver frowned. 

"The palace? Whatever for?"

"The Prince it would seem has taken a liking to this one after watching him fight...he requests his presence."


	2. Chapter 2

The land is governed by three kinds of magic. Arcane, Divine and Primal. Primal magic, frequently practiced by the Witches of Vask, is focused around earth magic. Summoning beasts from the wilds, calling lightning down from the sky. Divine magic, performed primarily by the Servitors of Praka, summons power directly from the gods, calling upon them for inhuman powers and abilities. And then finally, there was Arcane magic. Magic that’s drawn directly from your own soul and channeled through the weave. Mages, wizards...and their hive was based right here, in Vere.

A very different change of pace than what Damen was used to, especially considering Akielos is the one country where magic is not regularly practiced.

He was paraded through the streets of Vere, and everywhere he looked, he could see arcana. Women waving their hands and floating damp clothes up onto lines strung between buildings. Guards training, summoning fire to lick at the lengths of their blades and blasting one another with gusts of wind. Even the children it seems had the inborn ability of magic, chasing each other with electricity tingling at the ends of their fingers.

It was magic up the ass in Vere.

He felt the tip of a spear behind him press into his spine as he walked. “Faster,” growled the guard. Damen’s jaw slid forward as he quickened his pace as he scanned his environment. There were guards nearly on every block, armed with arcane and steel as weapons. There were high, thirty foot walls surrounding the outskirts of the city and beyond to the north, Damen could see snow capped mountains and forests rising. He could escape if he went north....there was unknown territory to the north.

But it was south he needed to go. He needed to get home, now, before Kastor could begin to claim his throne. Every moment spent here was one step closer Kastor became to erasing his very existence.

The Palace of Arles came into view. Turrets of ivory pierced into the clouds. The massive castle was blindingly white, surrounded by armed walls and beautiful verdant gardens where Damen could see living topiaries of deer and wolves mulling about. And everywhere - guards. Their eyes were locked on him as he was herded up the steps and to the great doors, flanked by gargoyles. They swiveled their heads towards Damen, ruby eyes glinting watchfully before returning to stony silence.

“Can he speak Veretian?” He hard one of the guards escorting him ask and the slaver shook his head.

“We don’t think so. He hasn’t said a word since he was sold to us. Shall I send for a translator to assist the Prince?”

“That won’t be necessary. Prince Laurent is fluent in Akielon.”

Good. There were a few things he wanted to say to the Prince of Vere.

They approached the massive, white marble doors. Bas reliefs of great kings and rulers are carved onto its surface, and with a great creak - they're pushed open.

A long, red carpet was unraveled all the way down through the palace entrance and to the foot of a silver throne. Damen felt a spear touch his back and he walked forward.

Prince Laurent lounged in the throne, one leg swung over the other in a lazy posture, as though he were sprawled across a sofa. He regarded Damen as he approached was now a man might eye a new steed brought before him.

He’s changed. The last time Damen had seen him...he was barely grown. Not a child, not an adult. Now, he was just simply....ethereal.

“So this is the Beast Tamer,” Laurent murmurs. “Have you enjoyed your stay?”

Damen didn’t answer. His eyes were locked on Laurent, even as he was shoved down, knees biting into the ground. Laurent’s eyes narrowed, and he repeated the question, in broken Akielon now. Still no answer.

Laurent clicked his tongue. “Very well, then.” He pushed up to his feet and descended from his throne. Every guard stood erect at attention.

_Step. step._ Black boots clicked against polished marble as Laurent approached and began to circle Damen in a predatorial like gait. Lustrous, aurelian blonde hair was braided with silver ribbons down his back, strands hanging loosely and framing his fair features. When a hand shot out, manicured nails snatched Damen’s jaw and forced his face upwards. Damen felt himself instinctively flex against the shackles that held his hands behind his back.

Laurent’s eyes held more malice than curiosity. They raked him with freezing contempt and Damen was sure he recognized him...how could he not?

“Like what you see?” guttural voice in perfect Veretian. The guards shifted to move forward to strike before Laurent simply shook his head.

“Don’t,” he says, eyes never lifting from Damen’s face. “I’d rather him be unsullied.”

Damen didn’t show it. But his heart was pounding in his chest, hard. He was worried Laurent might be able to hear it, banging against his ribcage like a drum. “Unsullied,” he says, his voice thick with rage. “Unsullied why. I’m just a slave.”

“Yes, you are. But the people like you. They like entertainment.” Laurent steps away now, waving his hand. “Know what they’re calling you? Beast Tamer. That chimera has been slaughtering slaves ever since my uncle erected the arenas. To be quite honest with you, I didn’t expect a single one of you to survive. And yet, here you are.” He turns towards him now. “...what is your real name.”

“I can answer that, your highness.”

A man sweeps into the room. And Damen instantly decided he disliked him. Thinning grey hair was pushed back and beady black eyes stared out from behind round glasses. Red robes rippled at his feet and he gave an elegant bow. “Lord Guion,” Laurent said, his voice level.

“The slave’s name is Damen.”

“Damen.” Laurent said the name slowly, testing it on his tongue. “I see. And what is the honor, then? Kastor sends me a fine group of slaves as....a generous gift? I don’t think so.”

Guion snorts. “The Akielons are a savage people, your Highness. But their slaves are the best in the land. Obedient, tame...” he wrinkles his nose down at Damen, whose eyes hold a glint of challenge. “At least. Most are. Perhaps they were sent in honor of your upcoming Name Day”

“Perhaps. Leave me.”

“But, my lord, the slave-”

“All of you. Get out.”

Guion flinches and gives another bow of his head. He waved his hand, teleporting from sight while the rest of the guards took their leave and soon, there was no one present save for Laurent and Damen.

Not a word was spoken between them. Damen held the Prince’s eyes. “You’re bold,” Damen finally says, breaking the silence. “No guards, no sentries, no mages. I could kill you now, and walk through that door.

Laurent sketched a brow and assumed a regal voice. “You’re no slave,” he tsks, putting distance between he and Damen now as he stepped back towards his throne. “A soldier. No, not a soldier. The way you took command in the arena, you’ve been in command before. A general, perhaps. Either way, you’re no fool, Damen. You know as well as I do that if you lay a finger on me, you’re dead.”

“I’m dead anyways.”

Laurent reached the foot of his throne. He turned slowly, eyes roaming up Damen’s features. “Yes. You are. Do you know why I despise your country, slave.”

“Because the Prince Damianos of Akielos murdered your brother.”

“That’s right. The Prince of Akielos put a sword through Auguste’s chest. A man he once considered a friend.”

Damen’s stomach twisted. “War doesn’t discriminate.”

“No. Neither does Death. Between the sinners or the saints. But...” Laurent slowly sits, fingers stretching out along the edges of his throne as he regards Damen, looking down the end of his nose. “I suppose that makes me not nearly as noble as Death. You’re going to die in this country, Damen. I have no use for scum like you in Vere.”

“So you’re just going to butcher me here?” Damen’s eyes trailed down to a glint of steel on Laurent’s hip. A finely crafted rapier. “Going to stick that needle in me?”

“No. I’d let you die fighting. At least then there will be a struggle.”

The arena. He was going to go back into the arena. This might have been the best decision Laurent could have made, the fool. The only guards down there were mercenaries bought off by slavers. In the palace...he had no chance. He’d be guarded with every step he took, but in the arena...he had a chance, so long as he wasn’t killed in the arena. “Whatever his royal Highness wants of me,” he pushes out.

Laurent snapped his fingers. The doors burst open and guards rushed in, dragging Damen to his feet. “Take him down to the slave quarters. Have him and the other Akielons prepared to fight. Bring out....the manticore tonight.”

The others.

It was like an icy hand gripped Damen’s heart as they began to draw him backwards and out of the throne room. “Wait!” His voice snapped out as he strained against the figures pulling him back.

Laurent, who had been going to leave, paused, looking over curiously.

“Just me.”

Laurent’s brow raised. “Just you?” he repeated. “Why?”

“It’s like you said,” Damen said. “I know how to fight. They don’t. They’d be slaughtered.”

“But they’d be a distraction. Fodder, for you to make the kill.”

“Just. Me.”

Laurent looked intrigued. As though this was an outcome he hadn’t anticipated. “So you’d choose to fight alone than risk your fellow Akielons,” he says. “How very noble.”

The guards were dragging him towards the doors. They were just about to pass through, when....

“On second thought. Have the slave brought to the baths. Have him cleaned, scrubbed down, waxed. Every inch of him.”

“Your highness..?” The guard questioned and Laurent glanced over his shoulder, magic flickering at his fingers.

“The slave will be mine, for whatever I desire from him.” And with a wave of his hand - white wings burst from his back, feathers overtaking his body as he transformed into a white bird, soaring through the open windows and out of sight.  

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. Life has been busy, but I'm looking to resume a normal schedule as of now.

To say the bathing was uncomfortable would be an understatement. It was horrendous. Water flowed from vases held by statues of angelic women, filling pools lined with mosaic tiles that glimmered a kaleidoscope of colours from the flickering torches. Damen’s clothes were ripped from his back, breastplate clattering as it hit the ground, a knife tearing through his slave garments. 

As soon as he was undressed, with two guards at the door, elderly hands shoved him into the water, a trio of old women fussing over him as they worked. “Dirty, dirty,” one of them rasped, Damen grimacing as wrinkled fingers ripped through his hair, cutting and snipping away at curled locks. 

It was violating. He slammed his eyes shut, ignoring the coarse cloths that scrubbed roughly at his entire body until there wasn’t a single bit of exposed flesh, sensitive or not, that hadn’t been rubbed raw and stung red. And the waxing...the waxing was painful. Strips of hot wax that were laid out over his chest, his legs, his arms, his jaw, peeling and pulling bits of hair that had Damen flinching until he was utterly bare and smooth. 

Damen grimaces, rubbing his jaw. “Is it of Veretian fashion to be as hairless as a newborn babe?” he mutters, wincing at the sharp hand that rapped his wrist. 

“Quiet!” One of the women quips, dragging him out of the baths now. He was fitted with silks of scarlet and gold, the garments much too light and revealing for a country of this climate. 

He was brought to a cell only a short ways away. Far more luxurious than the ones in the blood pens. After being chained to a post in the center of the room like a dog, he had just enough length to roam the small confines of the cell. Lounge in a small bed, shit over a pot in the corner and eat at the plate pushed under the bars and to his feet. Not enough to stand, though.

He had to crawl around, hunched over and aching. It made his blood boil. 

He ate every drop of food given to him. He had to keep his strength up if he was going to escape. He’d mapped out the route he’d taken as soon as he left the baths. He could tell he was in one of the east wings of the palace. If he could just see more of the palace... he could find a way home. Sell the gaudy gold that was clamped around his neck and his wrists and buy the first ship back to Akielos. 

All he had to do was survive until then. 

The door pushes open and Damen immediately looks up, attentive as a man enters in. He eyes Damen with distrust, sword at his hip. “The Prince requests your presence.”

“Missing me already? I must have made a good impression.”

The guard ignores the comment with a twitch of his jaw, unchaining Damen from the floor and wrenching him to his feet.  And as he’s drawn towards the door - a sash is wrapped tight around his eyes, preventing him from seeing anything.

Damn. He’d been hoping to remember his route....this is okay. He could just...try to do it with his eyes closed.

It proved to be much harder than he’d hoped. The Arles palace was a labyrinth of tunnels and rooms, and everywhere he went, he could hear whispers following him. Courtiers and servants and guards murmuring as he passed. 

“You are to not speak unless spoken to,” growls a voice in his ear as they ascend a flight of twisted stairs. “You will address the Prince as Your Highness, and go on your knees when you greet him. Do I make myself clear.”

“Transparently.”

They came to a stop. He could hear the sound of a door opening, and he was shoved inside. It slammed closed, and he was left in silence. 

Hesitantly, he reached up, dragging the sash from around his eyes, blinking to let them adjust to the light. He was in a lavish bedroom. A chandelier of crystal and silver hung above, a hundred candles blooming with small flickers of light, illuminating the chambers. The bed was trimmed with gold and blue, as was much of the decor. And sitting at a desk, back to him - was Prince Laurent. 

It was the last thing he wanted to do. But if he was going to survive this, he had to play smart. He stepped forward, lowering down until he was on his knees, bowing his head. Every sinew of his body resisted the motion, screaming with defiance and his words pushed from between his lips with great effort. 

“Your Highness.”

“I’ve been thinking about how I would best put your skills to use,” Laurent says, not turning back to look at Damen as he worked. He was writing in old scrolls, and Damen watched as the ink flared with purple light, magic coursing through the writing. Writing spells, perhaps. “I thought I would perhaps force you into my army. A soldier, perhaps graced with the benefit of becoming captain one day. The irony delighted me, the thought of you going up against your fellow Akielons. But you’d be too far away for my taste, and there’s no doubt you’d find a way to escape.”

“You give me too much credit,” Damen muttered, lifting his eyes to glower into the back of his head. “I’m but a barbaric slave.”

“Quite. But one with a semblance of aptitude, and that will not do.”

Laurent turned to face him now. Even in the waning hours of the day, he was still dressed in prudish and yet form fitting clothing of dark blue. “I considered simply having you as a servant. My akielon cup bearer. Akielons are the only people in the realm without magic, yes? It would be a job suited to your mundanity. But it would be foolish to cast aside your undoubtable talent in combat.

He sure did like to talk. Damen’s jaw slid forward. “So what would you wish of me, considering you’ve been thinking so very hard and long about it.”

“I’m about to show you. Come here.” 

Damen hesitated, and pushed himself off the floor. He closed the distance between them. “Now give me your hand.”

It was like a panther asking him to stick his head between its jaws. He paused for a moment, before reaching his hand out to Laurent.

Laurent took it. Smooth fingers gripped his own, pulling himself to his feet. Icy eyes roamed Damen’s figure, lingering for a moment over his scar, fully visible between the red silks he wore. 

Suddenly, there was a burst of arcana between them, Laurent’s eyes burning silver as his magic rushed through Damen’s veins. It was hot. Like molten metal burning, rushing through his body and he gasped, wrenching his hand away as he stumbled back, his heart pounding. He looked onto the top of his hand - and a symbol had been burned into his flesh. And arcane sigil. He tore his eyes up. “What is this?”

Laurent sat back down. “It’s the sigil of a Geas,” he explained simply with a wave of his hand. Unseen servants began to mull around the room, drawing Laurent’s cream coloured nightwear from his armoire. “Consider it a curse. A curse for you to actively carry out a single command of mine until you are no longer of muse to me.”

A Geas. Damen could feel a sick twist in his gut as he dragged his eyes back to the sigil on his hand. It glowed a light blue - the same colour of Laurent’s eyes. “What was your command, then,” he growls hoarsely, fingers curling into a fist. 

“I’ve begun to suspect that soon, my life will be in danger.” 

Damen’s gaze snapped upwards. Laurent’s hadn’t left his face, regarding him coolly. “I need protection. And in the arena, you demonstrated tact and skill that’s painfully devoid in any of my men, so graciously given to me by my dear uncle. I need your skill.”

“And if I refuse?” 

Laurent’s brow arched at the bold question. “Then you’ll die,” he says simply. “The Geas is now tethered to your very lifeforce. Every waking moment that you are not actively carrying out my command, you will grow weaker and weaker until your heart simply gives out.”

Damn it.  _ Damn it.  _ Damen grated his teeth, eyeing Laurent. He wanted to wring his slender little neck. He trapped him. “So I’m to protect you,” he says coolly. “And the moment I stop, I will begin to die.”

“That’s correct.” 

Damen paused in thoughtful silence. “And what if you were to die, Your Highness.”

“You will die with me. Which I imagine would be quite inconvenient for you.” Laurent moved over towards the clothes that were hovering by his bed. He glanced back towards Damen. “Well?” he purrs. “Attend me.”

Damen was frozen in place. His heart was still pounding, with disbelief, with anger. He was practically chained at the hip to this...to this  _ boy.  _ Gritting his teeth, he moved forward and settled his fingers at the top of the long string of knots and ties down Laurent’s spine...and they stilled. He pursed his lips.

“I don’t...I don’t know how to..”

“You don’t know how to untie a knot? Didn’t your mother ever teach you to tie your shoes.”

Red flushed over Damen’s cheeks. “She taught me,” he utters, fingers clumsily working away at the elaborate fastenings. “We just require only a single knot rather than a hundred. And we’re perfectly capable of undressing ourselves.”

It was tantalizingly slow work. Damen was sure he must have been standing there for half an hour before he finished, drawing Laurent’s dark blue jacket off of his figure. Why was he doing this. Surely there were servants more equipped to handle undressing the Prince. Soon, Laurent stood, torso bare to Damen. He felt himself unconsciously averting his eyes, keeping his gaze from roaming over the Prince’s figure - until he saw the glint of steel being kissed by candlelight.

His eyes were yanked back, body tense and snapping up to Laurent. His muscles were ready to spring as Laurent approached, twirling the knife expertly between his fingers. “One more thing I’d like for you to do,” Laurent says, features completely unreadable. His soft hands grasped Damen’s, drawing the tips of his fingers up to his jaw where Damen could feel a bit of fuzz from a stubble growing in. “Shave me.”

And he pressed the knife into Damen’s palm, taking a seat on the bed.

Damen’s heart threatened to pound out of his chest as he eyed the steel that flickered crimson and gold in the soft glow. He had a knife in his hand. 

A knife in his hand, with the Prince unprotected before him. 

...he could kill him so quickly. One swift stab, and he would be home free. 

But he  _ couldn’t.  _ His fingers trembled with rage. He couldn’t. As much as he wanted to....he was bound to the Prince. To protect, to keep him safe...and Laurent knew it. Damen could see the way his lip curved up into the smallest of smirks before resuming his regal features once again. 

The knife was an insult. A taunt. 

Damen stepped forward. His gripped the knife so tight his knuckles were white. His calloused hands touched Laurent’s jaw, tilting his head upwards. Laurent abided, eyes closed as he turned his face towards the ceiling, neck exposed. 

He didn’t move for a long while. He stared at the delicate curve of Laurent’s throat. So close, and yet so far. 

“Well?” Laurent asked, arching a brow and gestured. “I’d like to sleep, soon.”

Damen drew a sharp breath. 

...he needed to survive. Until he could find a way to break this curse...that was all he needed. He flipped the knife into position, lowering down and drew the knife slowly and carefully over Laurent’s jaw. 

“Yes, Your Highness.”


	4. ANNOUNCEMENT

Hello, everyone! I know, it's been a while since the last update but I wanted to say a new chapter is currently in the works. 

I also wanted to announce I'm taking writing commissions - for Captive Prince as well. I can do any pairing and any topic - including NSFW. My family is currently in an emergency state at the moment as we have no money and are currently in quarantine and I'm trying to help us get an income. If you're interested, my commission page can be found [here](https://hogwartsmysterystory.tumblr.com/post/190115466165/its-that-time-again-im-taking-a-new-batch-of).  

Thank you all so much for your support. Everyone please stay safe!


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